Take Two
by badculture
Summary: After a stakeout goes wrong, Terry McGinnis finds himself stuck in the year 2010. To make matters worse, he's been assigned to Young Justice... with Superboy.
1. Chapter 1

_**Notes:** _

_This story was originally started over a year ago, and published in the yj_anon_meme on Livejournal. The story was written in response to the following prompt:_

_"While investigating a cult, Terry McGinnis gets transported to YJ!Era. Getting to see young!Bruce and hanging out with the team? Awesome. Falling in love the clone of Superman and Lex Luthor who's destined to die at the hands of Superboy Prime? Not so awesome."_

_The original piece was never completed but (after a recent bout of unemployment) I found the fill, remembered why I wrote this thing in the first place and decided to have another go at it. What you're reading now is the polished, mobile-friendly version. I hope you enjoy!  
_

**Take Two**

**Chapter One**

Nestled atop one of the tallest skyscrapers in Neo Gotham city, the Chross Webcasting Station was nothing special to look at. The office itself spanned only three floors, while the rest of the building was occupied by other tenants, most of them larger businesses that could afford to rent more accessible spaces closer to the ground.

Although the Chross Foundation itself was in the early stages of its development, it had already gained a small and dedicated fan base, mainly for its online, faith-based web programming. It had also attracted the Batman's attention, for very different reasons.

Terry McGinnis sat perched upon one of the high terraces of an adjacent building, crouching low to avoid detection. He felt extremely visible in his black and red uniform – a dark blot against an otherwise sunny sky – but he refrained from activating his suit's camouflage option. It would drain his suit of a lot of power and he had a feeling that there was a long day ahead of him yet.

Using his visor's enhanced vision, the teen vigilante had no difficulty spying through the windows on the northern side of the building. He kept his eye on the "executive lounge" on the station's second floor. The room itself was surprisingly plush, decorated with old fashioned, wooden furniture and equipped with several high-end holo-sceens and other video equipment. There were six people inside, all of them men, all dressed in black suits of similar cut and colour, save for the company's CEO, Angela Chross. She was easily the youngest person in the room; a plain-faced woman dressed in a red pencil skirt and a deadly-looking set of high heels. She held herself with poise and she spoke with charisma; traits that had made her one of the most influential women in Gotham city even before her broadcasting station was constructed. Despite that, she lacked the notoriety of the room's final occupant, Gotham's very own Bruce Wayne.

Chross and her associates were all understandably flustered by the famous billionaire's visit. From his position, Terry could practically see them salivating at opportunity to add Wayne to their flock and (more importantly) recruit him as one of their sponsors. After all, as a wealthy senior with a reputation for frivolous spending, Wayne appeared to be exactly the kind of man that kept the Chross Foundation on the web.

With no major advertising relationships to speak of, the Chross Foundation subsisted mainly on viewer donations. Even so, it was remarkably profitable. Most of its most dedicated supporters were, like Bruce Wayne, members of the elite, upper class. Or they had been until recently. Most had already signed the better part of their fortune over to the Chross Foundation through one charitable initiative or another.

After a few strange dinner conversations with his peers, Wayne had decided to investigate the matter personally. And he had done so in the way that only the richest man in Gotham could: by walking in the front door.

The old man had opted to wear a microphone, to allow Terry to better follow the progress of his infiltration. Although Terry had not been particularly keen the idea of sending Wayne in on his own, he had to concede that entering the building with him (in the guise of an assistant) would present a number of logistical difficulties. Especially if the Batman was needed.

They'd already given Wayne a full tour of the facility. Now, the company's pretty CEO offered her aged guest a glass of scotch. Much to Terry's annoyance, Wayne accepted and then downed nearly half of it, without so much as a cautionary sniff.

Chross stepped away, gesturing for the rest of her employees to help themselves. Over the receiver in his earpiece, Terry heard her heels snap sharply against the wooden floor.

"I must admit," said Wayne, eyeing his glass, "I was hardly expecting such a… generous welcome."

Chross nodded, apparently missing the scrutiny in Wayne's voice.

"We have been unusually blessed since we arrived here in Gotham, Mr. Wayne," she said, pouring another glass for herself as he spoke. Terry noticed that she left out the ice. "As a matter of fact, everything you see in this room was kindly donated to us by our supporters. I believe you are acquainted with more than one?"

"As a matter of fact, it was an old family friend that brought me here," said Wayne. His words were true, to a point. "He seemed very convinced that your organization is going to bring big change to Gotham City."

"That's always nice to hear."

"I'm sure. Personally, I've always thought that our city needs more in the way of religious education. This visit has given me a lot to think about, in terms of what I can do to achieve that."

Terry couldn't see Chross's expression from his position, but the woman's incredulity was clear in her voice.

"Is that so? I must admit, I never expected a man like _you_ to say so, Mr. Wayne."

The old man laughed and took another drink. Time had diminished his good looks, but when he put his mind to it, he still had charm to spare. It was easy to imagine the sort of man he had been, back in his youth.

"You're thinking of a much younger man," he told Chross. "You'll find that I've mellowed considerably, in my old age."

Terry snorted and immediately regretted it afterwards. Wayne was wearing an earpiece of his own and the sound had probably not gone past him. Distracted by the sound of his own voice, he missed some of Chross's next words.

"…together. So, in that case, I hope you'll consider-

"I'm going to stop you there."

Wayne set down his empty glass, his usual frown back in place.

"Ms. Chross," he said, his words slow and deliberate, "I have been waiting all afternoon to find out what separates your organization from others like it. To find out what you can do to for this city. Instead, you show me web programs for senior citizens. My demographic is dying out. Unless you have plans to appeal to Gotham's youth, then this company has no future and I see no reason to invest in it."

Terry listened to the heavy silence on the other end of the line. Chross only drew a thin, plastic stylus from her pocket and made a small note in the digital notepad she'd been carrying around all day.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Wayne," she said at last, without looking up.

"Well then, if that's all you have to show me," said Wayne, "then I'm afraid I should be on my way."

Wayne took his cane in hand, and began the long and arduous task of lifting himself up into a standing position. Terry knew he was exaggerating the motion, giving Chross and her associates a chance to try and stop him. One man, a weedy looking fellow with glasses, took the bait.

"We might show him the special project," he said, looking to his employer for approval.

Chross turned her head his way, but Terry had no way of gauging the look she gave him. Instead he sat in suspense, waiting for her to give an answer. _Special projects. _That couldn't mean anything good.

"Yes," she said finally, pushing her chair back from the table. She tucked the notepad into the front pocket of her jacket as she spoke. "That's just what I was thinking. Mr. Wayne?"

The elderly CEO regarded the younger woman with consideration, making a great show of resistance to the idea. "You realize," he said, "that I have my own company to run."

Chross drew up alongside him, turning enough that Terry could finally get a proper look at her through the window. She had confidence written all over her, and the way she looked at Wayne almost seemed fond. She looked, for all the world, like an indulgent granddaughter.

"Believe me, Mr. Wayne," she said. "The _last_ thing I intend to do is waste your time."


	2. Chapter 2

Batman watched through the windows of Chross's office as his predecessor was led out the door and out of sight. They were moving somewhere else in the building, and he couldn't see them from his vantage point outside. Frustrated, he changed his head-up display settings to scan for the tracking device Wayne kept tucked in his breast pocket. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this whole thing.

The scanner indicated that Wayne was moving downwards. Riding the elevator, no doubt.

"A bionic scanner?" Wayne's voice came over their communicator, loud and clear. Terry knew he wasn't simply making idle conversation with his escorts. Wayne was giving him a head's up; these guys had heavy security in place. "This must some project you're working on."

"Oh, you have no idea," the speaker was a man. Probably one of Chross's employees.

"Yeah, that's not ominous at all," Terry said, more to himself than anything. His microphone must have picked it up but Wayne gave no indication that he'd heard him. He didn't want his escorts to know that he was bugged.

Terry focused on the scanner again. According to it, the elevator was picking up speed, rapidly descending through the shared office space below Chross's own property. There was no telling where she was planning to take Wayne. Even now, the elevator showed no signs of deceleration. It seemed unlikely that it would be able to slow down before it impacted the ground. Unless…

With a quick snap of his arms, Terry activated the wings on either side of his suit and plunged headfirst from the terrace. The thrusters in his boots fired to life as well, driving him down towards the ground, faster and faster. Before he could nose-dive into the pavement, Terry shut the thrusters off, bent his back and straightened out, pulling up to glide elegantly inside of the building's parking garage. A perfect, stealthy landing. Too bad no one was around to see it.

The interior of the garage was full of cars from the offices above but there were no witnesses in sight. Playing it safe, Terry used the shadows for cover, crossing the pavement with his head low. When he reached the ramp down to the floors below, he hopped the railing, dropping down from floor to floor as quickly as he could. The bottom floor was almost devoid of any vehicles. Most people probably didn't want to drive all the way down this far.

He checked his scanner again. Wayne's position was almost directly below his own, lower even than any of the building's basement levels should have been.

There was a faint crackle on the other end of the line.

"Well," said Wayne, in an exceptionally bitter tone. "You certainly seem to be _devout_."

Chross spoke next.

"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne," she said. "This will all seem quite normal to you, in time."

Terry heard the shuffle of feet and then Wayne barked, "Take your hands off me!"

A male voice shrieked in pain. Presumably, someone had just met the electrified end of Wayne's new and improved walking stick.

Time for Batman to step in, Terry decided. He had a handful of plastic explosives in his belt, so he dropped them on the pavement and moved hastily to find cover.

"Stay right where you are!" he said. "I'm setting off a charge!"

He received nothing but static in response. He'd have to take the risk.

The bomb blew a small, clean hole through the floor of the garage, just large enough for Batman to dive through, feet first. The dust was still so heavy in the air that he could barely see where he was landing. The ground below turned out to be unpaved, and Terry nearly lost his footing. Dirt floor?

The teen vigilante raised his fists and quickly took stock of his surroundings.

The room he'd landed in was barely more than a hole scooped out of the ground, more of a cave than anything. The walls were decorated with archaic symbols, and at the far end there was a pile of bones, arranged in such a way that they formed an altar. Besides a few safety lamps wired into the walls and the entrance into the elevator Wayne had taken to get there, there was no sign of any technology, anywhere.

"Nice place," Terry quipped. "The human remains give it a real cosy feel." He pivoted on his heels to see Wayne and the others staring at him. Two of Chross's employees were already on the floor (good old Mr. Wayne) and the old man seemed to be doing a pretty good job of fending off the other two, for the time being.

Chross, he noticed, had moved halfway across the room, safely out of the way of the conflict. There was a long curved knife in her hands, decorated with a strange, rigid script along the inside edge of the blade. Terry thought he'd seen something like it before but he didn't pause to worry about it for too long. Chross stood at the ready, her attention split between Wayne and the newest arrival on the scene.

"Forget the old man!" she shouted at her men.

Chross's flunkies obeyed, advancing in on Terry with knives drawn. Even as they did, the fear was clear in their eyes. They weren't fighters. The first of them was heavy set, balding, probably nearing his forties already. The other was thin but soft-looking, more likely to be an accountant than an assassin. It was unlikely that they'd anticipated a run-in with the Batman, let alone an armed senior.

"Just hold your ground!" Chross told them. Out of the corner of his eye, Terry saw her kicking off her slingback heels. "Remember, none of this will matter soon!"

For whatever reason, both men seemed to lose their fear, lunging across the room to engage their new opponent. Terry didn't know what kind of faith they actually prescribed to but he knew suddenly that they must be true believers, to act without hesitation. It would be their downfall.

Terry side-stepped the smaller of the two men quite easily, swinging around to deliver a swift punch to the enemy's jaw. It was, perhaps, excessive use of force, given the advantage of his suit, but seeing Mr. Wayne boxed into a corner had done something to spark Terry's inner angry kid. It pissed him off, thinking about all the people they must have lured down here before now. It had to have taken dozens of bodies to build that altar.

The second man came at him and this time Terry ducked low to avoid his swiping blade, spinning on one heel and kicking out with the other. The manoeuvre knocked his opponent's legs out from underneath him. Terry stood up and stomped on the man's ribs, probably harder than he'd needed to.

His fit of temper was interrupted by a cry of triumph across the room. Terry looked up, surprised, to see Wayne and Chross reel back from each other, the broadcaster's knife gleaming red in the dim lighting of the underground passage. Wayne hardly faltered, shifting into a defensive stance, but there was a long, thin trail of blood running down his arm. Chross had shed first blood.

"On your left!" Wayne barked, without so much as a glance at his younger counterpart. In his distraction, Terry hadn't seen the first of his two opponents struggle back to his feet and barely missed a knife to the guts. His suit was strong enough to resist the blade, but the blow still would have knocked the wind out of him. He was getting careless.

"That's enough from you," Terry growled, catching the offender's wrist and giving it a vicious twist. With his suit's enhanced strength, it only took the barest of exertions to break the other man's bones. An ounce more force, and he could easily maim him, if he were in that sort of frame of mind... but that wasn't his style. With one last kick, more out of spite than necessity, he turned his attention back to his mentor's plight.

Wayne seemed to have held his own. Chross was backing off now, probably cowed by the loss of her cohorts. Batman put himself between the woman and the elevator, blocking off her only escape route.

"Drop the knife," he demanded.

For a moment, Chross did nothing but stare at the knife in her hands, her expression queasy and uncertain. A second later she broke into a run, making a dash for the altar on the other side of the room.

"Stop her!"

Batman didn't need to wait for orders; he was already sprinting across the room, hot on the broadcaster's heels. Whatever she was planning to do, nothing good could come of it.

She didn't make it far. Halfway across the room, Terry managed to grab Chross by the elbow and haul her back.

"Okay, lady," he started, wrenching the young woman back and away, "That's enough hocus pocus for one – slag it!"

Chross jerked the knife around with her free hand, nicking the hand that Terry was using to hold her. But he wasn't really her target. Instead, she sliced her knife across the inside of her own elbow, cutting a long, thin stripe though the fabric of her blazer and dragging it across the flesh underneath.

Terry was so surprised that he barely reacted when Chross hurled the knife away from both of them, sending it sailing across the room. It stuck the altar with a clatter, scittering across the surface to strike against the opposite wall. And then it appeared to be over.

Wayne started to say something, to berate Terry's careless, probably, but the sound was strange and far hard to follow. With each passing second, it seemed to be getting further and further away, stretched and strange.

Terry tried to turn his head, but all that met his eyes was a dark blur of colours, earth tones and shadows. He felt the dirt under his boots slide away under the soles of his feet and then even that was gone, and all that was left to him was the sensation of Chross's arm within his grasp, still slippery with blood.


	3. Chapter 3

Terry blinked twice against the light, struggling to remember how he had ended up face first on a paved road, outside. The only thing that he could recall clearly was a vague sensation of nothingness, like being caught up in an anti-gravity field. There was no telling how long he'd been like that, caught between here and there.

Gradually, Terry became aware that he was holding something in a tight grip. When he looked over, he discovered that he still had Chross by the arm. The businesswoman was already struggling to her feet, trying to shake him loose before he regained his faculties.

"Don't… leave…" Terry couldn't quite keep the bleariness out of his voice. He still felt a bit disoriented. "I thought… we had… something special…"

His captive failed to appreciate the humour.

"That is _completely_ inappropriate!" she huffed. Terry had to hand it to her: she was really good at staying in character. He could almost believe that she really _was_ the good Christian she pretended to be and not a crazy cultist with an altar made of bones in her basement. Of course, the way she was getting ready to stomp on his face kind of ruined the illusion.

Acting quickly, Terry used his hold on her to haul himself up and out of the way, knocking her off balance in the process. With his free hand, he took hold of her other arm and twisted it behind her back.

"You shouldn't have interfered!" she snapped, twisting around to glare at him. "Take your hands off me!"

Terry caught her other arm – no way he was making that mistake again – and pulled it around behind her, ensuring that Chross had no way of taking another swipe at him. Or herself.

"Give me one good reason to," he challenged her, certain that he had the upper hand. Chross was in good shape, but she didn't have any weapons at her disposal and she didn't have a prayer of overpowering Batman – especially not with his suit to amplify his strength.

"You're going to need my cooperation if you want to get out of here," she said.

Terry glanced around. The scenery seemed perfectly ordinary to him; just a regular street in a regular town. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there but he wasn't too worried about getting home, either.

"One word:" he told her, "Batmobile."

He secured the woman as well as he could with one arm and then used his free hand to twist his buckle, one click left. Tapping the button in the center of the buckle activated his suit's built-in homing mechanism.

When the Batmobile didn't appear on the horizon after a few beats, he began to worry. Maybe they were further afield than he'd originally thought.

"It won't work," Chross told him. "Look around you. Haven't you noticed anything out of place?"

Terry thought she was bluffing, but he looked again, anyways. At first glance, the scenery in front of him seemed familiar, but when Terry looked closer, he realized that Chross was telling the truth. Gone were the towering sky scrapers of Neo Gotham city; the buildings around them were all short and stubby, close enough to the ground that they left the sky exposed. The pedestrians looked strange as well, dressed in retro-looking outfits that Terry had only ever seen in his parents' old photo albums.

It struck him then that Wayne had been unusually quiet throughout this ordeal. When they'd last seen each other, Wayne had a microphone on, but so far, Terry hadn't heard so much of a hint of movement on the other end of the line.

Something was out of place. He quickly ran through a list of possible scenarios and wrote them off one by one. Was he stuck in some kind of illusion? Virtual reality?

The squeal of rubber tires snapped him out of his reverie. He turned just in time to see a shiny black convertible racing his way. Terry leapt back, hauling Chross along with him just as the car swerved in the opposite direction, driving over the curb to slam nose-first into a metal garbage bin.

_Sloppy, McGinnis, _he thought, in a voice that sounded alarmingly like his mentor's. _Next time you decide to admire the scenery, try doing it from the sidewalk._

Fortunately, it didn't look like any pedestrians had been injured in the crash. The driver was a different story. A dark-haired man in a sleek-looking black business suit, he remained slouched over the steering wheel of his car. The thin, wire-framed sunglasses he wore over his eyes had gone askew in the crash. Terry felt of moment of indecision: rush to the victim's aid and risk losing Chross?

He was spared from making a decision when the man in the car stirred into wakefulness. He barely paused before lurching out of the vehicle, turning to regard Terry and his captive with curiosity.

"Are you both… alright?"

The man's words slowed as he took in the sight of them, peeling off his shades to regard them more clearly. His gaze, Terry noticed, was sharp and critical. And incredibly familiar.

Terry had, on more than one occasion, read up on the old man's history. In the process, he'd stumbled across old photographs of Wayne as a young man. He'd even seen a few old videos. There was no mistaking it – the face, the voice, the mannerisms – everything was perfect, just the way Wayne would have looked, thirty or maybe forty years before.

"Wayne?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Lovely," Chross let out a long suffering sigh. Terry suspected that she would use the same tone of voice if she'd discovered a filing error. "Thanks to your interference, I'm behind schedule."

_Oh, _thought Terry.

As a masked vigilante and a friend to the Justice League, Batman – or rather, the Batman of the Future – had come to accept certain inexplicable phenomena as just another part of his daily working life. He didn't _believe _in magic, per say, but he'd gotten used to some pretty weird ideas. Like time travel. Time travel was just one of the things that happened sometimes, when you got into the business of superheroics.

People were starting to gather near the scene, drawn by the crash and all of the commotion that followed. Chross took advantage of the confusion by making it even worse.

"Someone!" she shouted, twisting in Terry's grasp, "Please help me! This man is assaulting me!"

Chross couldn't have known it was Batman – the_ original _Batman – standing in front of them. But she had his attention, now. Terry saw Wayne's gaze grow calculating, shifting from side-to-side to take stock of the situation. He couldn't act freely in front of all these witnesses without raising suspicions, but Terry knew him too well to believe that he would stand idly by, either.

As he had expected, Wayne reached into his car and pulled out a briefcase, brandishing it in front of him like a weapon.

"Alright," he declared, his posture radiating just enough nervousness to make the crowd believe it, "you heard the lady. Now, let her go!"

Terry held on tight, his heart racing. Could it really be Wayne? Or was it all a trick, to keep him from fighting back?

"Look, I know this looks bad," he told Wayne, "but I have a really good reason for doing this."

Wayne only raised an eyebrow, taking in the sight of the injured woman in Terry's hold.

_You're right, _his gaze seemed to say, _it does look bad._

Chross didn't wait to see how their stand-off would turn out. Instead she threw her weight back, driving one elbow into Terry's gut. Wayne lunged forward at the same time, and Terry had to let go of his captive to fend off the blow, a sharp strike aimed straight at his head.

Wayne even had the gall to act clumsy, stumbling backwards after his attack. Terry cursed, quickly stepping out of range before Wayne attacked again.

"I said I'm on your side!" he protested.

A nearby bystander took it upon himself to step in, joining Wayne with his fists raised up. More followed after him. It would have been a touching scene – the people of Gotham City banding together – if Terry hadn't been the object of their hostility.

"You think just because you're all dressed up like Batman, no one is going to stand up to you?"

It was all Terry could do to clamp down on the instinctive reply: _I AM Batman! _Somehow, he doubted that one would go over well. The people in the crowd were restless and he was going to have an all-out riot on his hands if he didn't act fast.

More importantly, Chross was getting away.

"I wouldn't hang around if I were you," said Wayne, giving Terry a significant look. There was no doubt that he was going to give chase he moment that Terry turned his back, but there was no helping that. It looked like he and Wayne were going to be enemies, for the time being.

"Have it your way," Terry said, throwing the old (but not that old) man a quick salute and stepping back, readying for take-off. He felt something hard bump against his heel and glanced down. It was Chross's digital notepad.

Terry scooped it up with the toe of his boot and tossed it up into his hand.

Wayne eyed him warily, probably wondering how to get this mysterious item out of Terry's hands without any of the pedestrians around them noticing something amiss. Terry didn't think he should wait around long enough for him to figure it out.

"We'll see each other later," he promised.

With a quick flick of his arms, Terry activated his suit's wings and took off, leaving the civilians behind him to gasp in wonder at his sudden disappearance. He couldn't quite resist a glance back down, hoping to catch a glimpse of Wayne's reaction. But of course, he was unperturbed, glaring up at the sky with a look of stony disapproval that Terry knew only too well.

Terry looked away, but the damage had been done. If there had ever been any doubt that he was looking at Bruce Wayne, down there, then there was no question of it now.

He was in the past. Way in the past. And there was no telling if he would ever escape.


	4. Chapter 4

The hunt for Chross turned out to be a fruitless one, made more difficult by the challenge of staying hidden in broad daylight. The fact that no one in this time period had ever seen a flight suit or a jetpack before didn't help. In Neo Gotham, no one paid much attention to the cars and the people soaring over their heads, but in this place, when people felt a shadow fall over them, they looked up.

Terry tried to stick to the rooftops as much as possible, keeping his eyes peeled for a pedestrian in red down below. Eventually, however, he had to admit that continuing the search would be a wasted effort and forced himself to slow down, to think, to _stop panicking. _

If nothing else, he had confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was in the past or, at least, a very accurate copy of Old Gotham City. (He wasn't quite prepared to rule out the possibility that it could be a VR simulation, just yet.) He was still in the dark about Chross's motives for bringing them here. Without knowing that, he was hard-pressed to anticipate her next move.

He'd been carrying Chross's digital notebook on hand. If he wanted to learn more about her, it seemed as good a place as any to start as any.

Normally, he would have uploaded all of the files on its hard drive and sent them to the Batcave by now. Logistically, it was always better to leave this sort of thing to Wayne while he was busy with the groundwork for the case. At present, however, his mentor thought Terry was a crooked Batman imposter and wouldn't be likely to believe him if he asked for help.

Instead, Terry hunkered down on top of an old apartment building and switched Chross's notepad on. The screen prompted him to enter a password. Activating the retractable key in the right index finger of his suit, Terry set about deciphering it. In the lenses of his cowl, he watched as the password resolved in front of him, one letter at a time. **D-R-T-H-O**...

Terry felt a chill as the last characters fell into place. _Dr. Thomas Wayne._

The password screen blinked twice and then disappeared, only to be replaced by the last screen that Chross had open before she'd switched the device off. It was a biography of Wayne's life, and while it lacked some essential details about his nocturnal activities, it wasn't light reading either. Chross had made a number of notations on the pages concerning Wayne's childhood, namely the incident that had left him an orphan.

Maybe Wayne's unexpected visit to the Chross Broadcasting Station hadn't been so unexpected after all.

Terry flipped through the book, quickly. He found no evidence to suggest that Chross knew of Wayne's secret identity. For the most part, all of her notes revolved around the man's childhood. She had even managed to get her hands on a copy of the police report that had been taken on that day, complete with a rough time line of events leading up to the attack. Terry could imagine how useful such information would be, especially to a time traveller like Chross. Even more so, to the leader of a strange cult. What better time to convert Wayne to her way of thinking than when he had been at his most vulnerable?

Drumming his fingers against the plastic surface of the notepad, Terry contemplated the puzzle before him. If Chross was so interested in Mr. Wayne's formative years, then what were they doing here? Now?

Whether it was intentional or merely a twist of fate that had brought them here remained to be seen, but one thing was clear. Chross had set her sights on Wayne's fortune, and there was no doubt that she would continue to come at him until it was in her hands.

* * *

Gotham had changed over the years, but Terry knew enough of the city's history to navigate without much difficulty. There was Old Wayne Tower, the tallest building in the city, positioned in the same spot that would someday be occupied by the Wayne-Powers building. And there was Amusement Mile, just like in his mom's old photographs.

There was no way of knowing when he'd get a chance to sit still and recharge his suit, so Terry tried to limit the amount of time he spent in flight, opting instead to jump from one rooftop to another as he made his way across the city. He knew he must be close to the Robert Kane memorial bridge. From there, he could cross the river and then follow the road to Wayne Manor.

On the rooftops close to the edge of the water, Terry felt a shiver through his boots and paused. An earthquake?

When nothing else happened, Terry decided to dismiss the sensation. It was probably nothing more than a minor tremor. Gotham got them from time to time, and usually it was no big deal.

He was about to launch himself towards the suspension bridge up ahead, when the whole structure shuddered and buckled. Two of its cables snapped and fell inwards, falling across the road at haphazard angles. Terry watched in horror as the cars on the bridge veered off course, some of them colliding with others as they tried to avoid the debris. A school bus (of all things) took the worst of the damage when another car smashed into it from behind, leaving it teetering on top of the guard rail of the bridge. And it looked like it was going to tip over the edge.

Terry wasted no more time switching his suit into flight mode and made a beeline for the school bus. He didn't spare a thought about what might happen if he changed the future – there was no way he could look away from something like this.

He wasn't the only one.

Someone else was making their way towards the bridge as well, crossing the distance in great big leaps that shook the ground. Terry grimaced as he landed, feeling another shockwave rattle his teeth together. Was this guy the one responsible for the accident?

The stranger quickly proved him wrong, rushing across the bridge on foot to shift a small vehicle away from the edge of the bridge and back to safety.

There was no time to worry about the newcomer's identity, though, not with a school bus ready to take a nose dive into the river. Terry moved into position quickly, taking ahold of the bus's back bumper. His suit didn't give him enough strength to haul the whole thing back up onto the road, but at least if he pushed down hard enough he could keep its back wheels on the ground.

When he was sure he could keep it was steady, Terry reached up with one arm, seized onto the handle that would open the bus's emergency door and yanked on it, hard. Inside the bus, a few dozen pale and frightened faces peered up at him over their seats.

"It's okay, kids," he told them. "Everyone to the back. No pushing, okay?"

A few kids managed to climb out of the bus without incident, but the rest of them were being pushy and slowing the whole process down. One of the younger ones took one look at Terry's mask and decided he'd rather take his chances onboard, pushing kids left and right to climb back inside. He'd probably never seen anything like it; an intelligent fabric that moulded to Terry's face, flexing around his nose and mouth like a second layer of skin.

"One at a time!" Terry grunted, hoping the bus driver would have the sense to scoop up any kids who were too scared to make it out on their own.

A shadow fell over him, and Terry heard a voice much older than any of the children's speak behind him.

"Get out of my way," it said.

Terry turned his head to make a smart remark, only to find that his face mere inches away from someone's chest. It was (as chests go) very broad, covered by a black t-shirt and embellished by a bright red "S" Shield stamped across the front. Two massive arms bulged out from the sleeves, set on either side of a wide neck. Terry looked up. The face above his was younger than he'd expected, clean-shaven with a strong jaw and thin lips. Bright blue eyes glowered at him beneath dark, furrowed brows.

The guy looked an awful lot like Superman. And he looked _pissed off. _Judging by the way all the children had frozen in their tracks, Terry wasn't the only one who had noticed.

"Do you mind?" Terry said, managing to fill his voice with more bravado than he felt. "You're scaring the kids."

The guy who looked like Superman got even angrier.

"_I'm _scaring the kids?! I'm not the one who-

"Careful now," another voice cut across them, "Watch the kids."

Terry felt the bus move and stumbled back out of the way as something from the other side pushed it back, away from the brink. The motion of it was gentle enough that the kids on board mostly managed to stay standing upright. Mindful of what he'd been told, Terry quickly collected his wits and shooed the kids that had already evacuated out of the vehicle's path.

The bus rolled to a stop, and then the _real _Superman stepped into view, blue spandex and all. The expression on his face showed obvious disapproval.

"I had that!" the boy in the black t-shirt huffed.

Terry was surprised to hear the animosity in the younger man's voice. Weren't he and Superman supposed to have been best pals?

"I didn't want to take the chance." Superman told him sternly. "As it is, your landing could have destabilized the bridge!"

"It didn't!"

"But it could have." Superman's tone made it clear that the conversation was over. He turned to Terry, his gaze hard. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Terry reminded himself again that his usual codename wasn't going to go over well here. But this was Superman he was talking to, and if anyone would know what to do about a time-crisis, it was him.

"I'm… a friend," he said, lamely. He didn't like to fall back on clichés, but nothing else sprang to mind. "And I was just on my way to… uh… _Wayne Manor._"

Terry stressed the name, hoping it would be enough to convey his meaning. He wasn't really sure how far back in time he was. If Superboy was here – and Terry was pretty sure the surly-looking boy glaring at the ground was Superboy – then it was safe to assume that the Justice League had already been formed. It was also possible that Superman already knew the Batman's secret identity.

Just as he'd hoped, the Kryptonian caught his meaning and raised an eyebrow.

"What…" he began, and then stopped. "Hold on."

Superman touched his ear, and his head titled slighty.

"Superman here," he said, into some microphone Terry couldn't see on his person. The man listened for a moment. "No… I think I might have a situation here. Okay. Keep me informed."

He turned back to Terry brusquely, picking up the conversation as if he'd never left off. "What business do you have at Wayne Manor?"

Terry decided to ignore him and cut straight to the chase.

"Would you believe that I'm a time traveler?" he asked.

"I might," said Superman, just as Superboy scoffed and said, "No."

The man and his clone exchanged awkward glances.

"It's… not the easiest story to believe," Superman admitted, assuring them both that he wasn't crazy. "Then again, in this line of work, you have to keep an open mind."

Terry was a little surprised, himself. He hadn't expected Superman to just swallow his story like that, not without a demonstration of some of the tech that Terry was packing, anyway.

"Uh, okay. Well, I don't really have time to go into details, but I was brought here by a crazy cult leader named Angela Chross. She's from the future, like me, and I have reason to believe that she's targeting the old man. Wayne Manor is quiet and secluded. I'm willing to bet she'll strike there."

Superman looked skeptical. "You mean there's a time traveling menace after… Alfred?"

"Um… no." Terry felt embarrassed at the slip. "I mean Bruce Wayne. I'm still adjusting to the time difference."

"I see." Superman turned to his clone and said, "I'll take care of this. I need you to run a message to Batman for me."

Superboy sputtered, indignant, but Terry barely noticed it. All of the tension he'd been carrying eased out of his muscles. He didn't have to do this alone.

"So you'll help me out?" he asked.

Superman smiled his warm, trustworthy smile, and placed a gentle hand on Terry's shoulder.

"Sure I will, son," he said. His grip was firm. "But for now, you're going to have to come with me."


	5. Chapter 5

After becoming Batman, Terry had come to the realization that if he wanted to fight crime, get good grades _and _keep up some semblance of a social life, he was going to have to have to give up on a regular sleep schedule. As a result, he'd pretty much mastered the art of falling asleep anywhere, anytime. In fact, he was so good at falling asleep in odd places that he could do it without even trying most of the time.

Most people probably would have balked at the idea of catching a nap in the back of a Justice League sanctioned prison truck, but Terry found himself sorely tempted to just doze off. The vibrations of the vehicle were _awfully_ soothing and it was going to be a long ride to Washington City, after all.

Superman had confiscated most of Terry's obvious weapons, starting with his bombs and batarangs. Fortunately, even the man of steel's X-ray vision hadn't been able to reveal the Batsuit's more complex functions. Even more fortunately, he hadn't even suggested that Terry unmask himself. (Honour among vigilantes and all that.)

Terry sighed and leaned his head back. He'd started his day thinking that all he had to worry about was a routine afterschool stake out. If he'd known he was going to get thrown back in time and then subsequently hauled by the Justice League for questioning, then he would have budgeted some time for a nap during History.

He looked up at the ceiling of the van. On second thought, he decided he'd have napped through Family Studies instead. He was starting to wish he'd stayed awake more often in History.

It felt a little weird letting the truck take him _away _from Gotham City. And the Batcave. And Wayne. Still, playing nice with the Justice League was probably the best way to earn his way back into the not-so-old man's good graces. Plus, if he was being honest with himself, it would be kind of tough to break out of an armored truck without his explosives, anyways.

Yes: a nap was probably a good idea. Terry had a feeling he was in for a long day.

* * *

The Hall of Justice was a triumph of modern architecture; larger than life, with huge rooms and sweeping corridors, all of them filled with memorabilia and massive displays devoted to the League's exploits.

Of course, Terry already knew that it was just a front for the League's real headquarters – he'd learned that in history class. Still, it didn't seem prudent to mention this fact in front of his escorts. He wasn't sure if they even knew. Actually, come to think of it, he wasn't really sure if they were working for the League or just doing them a friendly favour. They looked military.

Terry let the small group of armed men herd him through the building, following them down into the building's lower levels. They stopped in front of a small room, plainly furnished, with a wooden table and a handful of metal chairs. The walls were made of plain steel (or something that looked an awful lot like it) and the doorframe had a bit of tech around it. Terry recognized the basic elements of a force field generator – technology that was much more advanced than he'd been expecting to find in this day and age.

And there was a green man with red eyes, standing calmly on the other side of the room. Terry recognized him immediately: Martian Manhunter. He'd been wondering why they had to come all the way out here just to ask him a few questions.

Before he could say anything, the Martian raised one of his hands in a placating gesture.

"I'm sure you can understand why we would resort to such measures," he said. "It is… not easy to take a story like yours at face value."

"I get it." But that didn't mean he had to like it. Terry got a creepy crawly feeling when he looked at Martian Manhunter. There was something eerie about him – not just the eyes, although that didn't help. It was his stillness. Even at rest, most people fidgeted. Their hands were almost constantly in motion. Not this guy. He was human-shaped, but there was no doubt that he was an alien.

The Martian smiled slightly. If he'd heard anything that was going on in Terry's head, he gave no indication of it.

"If it comforts you, I only plan on reading the surface of your thoughts," he said. "Just enough to verify that you are telling the truth."

It was hard to feel comforted with a small group of armed men at his back. Old guns were as dangerous as new guns, batsuit or no batsuit.

"That's probably wise." Terry didn't mince words. "I wouldn't want you reading ahead."

If the green man was bothered by his tone, he didn't let on. Instead, he simply looked to the armed guard on either side of the doorway, nodded his head politely and then said, "I think I can take it from here."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Thank you. And please, pass along my thanks to your superior officers."

That really puffed the guy up. Terry watched in amusement as the man straightened up, saluted the Martian, and then sauntered off the way he'd come.

The green man turned back to Terry.

"You claim to have traveled through time," he said, without missing a beat. "How?"

Terry pulled up a chair, turned it around, and then plunked down in it, folding his arms on the back of it. If the Martian wanted to talk shop, that was fine by him.

"Would you believe it was magic?"

The green man's brow crinkled slightly. If he'd had eyebrows, one of them would have been raised. The effect was odd, to say the least.

"Yeah, I'm not sure if I do either," Terry admitted. "That's what it looked like though. I was looking into this cult when it happened. They had some weird ritual thing going on – underground cave, alter made of bones, torches, the works – then next thing you know: here I am."

"You were seen earlier today by a group of civilians. They reported that you were harassing a woman. Do you have an explanation for this?"

Terry wasn't entirely surprised at the question. He'd expect members of the League to communicate with one another. In a way, he was glad to know that Batman was in on the loop, paying attention to the proceedings.

"That was Chross. Angela Chross. She's the head of the cult I was investigating… At least as far as I can tell. There might be someone pulling her strings, higher up."

"What makes you say that?"

Terry shrugged.

"I get the feeling she's neck deep in her own Kool-aid. That's already an expression, right? Kool-aid?"

"Earth sayings often escape me," the Martian admitted. "But I understand your meaning. She seems to believe."

"Right." Terry felt a little comforted. At least he wasn't the only one who was a little bit out of his element, here. "Maybe it's an act but I don't know. There's something going on with her."

"I see. Then tell me: why do you believe Bruce Wayne is in danger?"

Again, Terry found himself wondering how much he should tell. Wayne had always been close-mouthed regarding his secret identity, even with other members of the League, so it was hard to know who was in on it.

"I'll say this," he said, hoping that if the Martian knew, that would be enough to let on that he knew too. "Bruce Wayne is old money. And Chross gets most of her funding from wealthy senior citizens. One day, they seem perfectly normal. The next, they decide to sign away their fortunes in her name. It's not clear exactly how she does it, but Wayne was her next target. She's been collecting information about him; dates, times, that kind of thing. Then she travels back in time and who should we run into but the man himself. A little less wrinkly than I remember, but definitely the same guy. I don't think that's a coincidence."

The Martian was still for a moment, frowning, deep in thought.

"You seem sincere," he said.

"Seem?"

"Yes."

The Martian let that statement hang in the air for a while.

"Soooo… what happens now, then?" Terry finally asked.

"I think…" the Martian trailed off, deep in thought. "Actually, no. First, I think I should introduce you to my niece."

"Uh." Terry hadn't seen that one coming. "That's nice and all… but…"

"She is an excellent cook. And I sense that you are hungry."

"Oh." Terry _had _missed dinner. Or maybe it was breakfast. The readout on his HUD indicated that it should have been late at night in his local time zone, so to speak. The clock hadn't just been rewound back a few decades. It had also sent him to a different time of day, so his sense of how much time had actually passed was getting a little wonky. "Does she make real food or Martian food?"

The green man only smirked as he strode by.

"What is that earth saying? Do not look a gift horse in the mouth?"

Terry had kind of been hoping he wouldn't have to stay in the past long enough for food to become an issue. But, he supposed, that had probably been wishful thinking. It was time to face facts. He was _starving. _Plus credits weren't going to do him any good here. His options were: accept charity from the League, or accept charity from somewhere else.

He thought he should have a sign made: '_Will Fight Crime for Food._'

Martian Manhunter chuckled. Terry doubted that it was a coincidence. That probably should have offended him, but it didn't.

At least he had one person around who trusted him now. That had to count for something.


	6. Chapter 6

The Zeta-tube seemed to be at odds with its surroundings; a brightly lit metal tunnel set between two old book cases in the room behind the Justice League's study. Staring into it, Terry could almost believe he was looking back into the future. It was way beyond its time.

In the future, Terry had only used Zeta-beam transport a handful of times. Even then, it had seemed cutting edge to him. It was hard to believe such advanced technology could have existed during the same era that _Crocs_ had peaked in popularity.

Regardless, it was still comforting to know that there was at least one piece of technology around that Terry knew how to use. That would come in handy if he ever wanted to make a quick exit.

Terry tried not to look too interested in what Martian Manhunter was doing at the controls, but still took note of the coordinates being entered into the system. Under normal circumstances, he would have asked Wayne too look them up and give him an idea of where he was headed. Now, however, he was on his own. He'd just have to keep track of his surroundings as best he could.

The Green Martian finished what he was doing and strode ahead into the harsh white light of the tube, motioning for his guest to follow him. The machinery around them whirred to life, pulsating with energy, and then, with one loud _thump_ he disappeared into the light.

Terry was only a few steps behind him and closed his eyes against the light before it completely blinded him. When he opened them again, blinking the spots out of his vision, he saw several still-blurry figures illuminated up ahead and what looked like dark rock walls behind them. The air was cool and smelled earthy. He thought he might be underground.

RECOGNIZED. MARTIAN MANHUNTER. ZERO SEVEN. BATMAN. A-ZERO FOUR.

Terry frowned as the automated voice droned out his code name. For a moment, he'd dared to hope that Martian Manhunter would take him to the Batcave. Once his vision had cleared, however, he could see that wasn't the case.

The first person he recognized – much to his surprise – was Superboy. He was kneeling on what appeared to be a holographic floor, and he looked even more sullen and angry than he had before on the bridge. This time, though, his frustration was directed towards someone else: a woman standing over him, dressed in a racy black one piece, tights and an exceptionally sturdy pair of combat boots. That had to be Black Canary.

The other Leaguers standing off to the side were all young: there was Martian Manhunter's protégé, Miss Martian, Kid Flash, Aqualad and – he was so low to the ground Terry almost missed him – Robin.

Terry couldn't help it. He _stared._

The masked boy stared back, with incredulity written all over his face.

"Wait," he said. "_Who_ are you supposed to be?"

"Long story, kid," Terry answered him, lifting his hand slightly to ward off any further questions. He felt odd being scrutinized by someone so young. Doubly so, given that this was the kid who was going to set the bar he tried to live up to every day.

"I ran into him earlier today," Superboy clambered to his feet, glowering in Terry's direction. "Says he's a time traveler."

Robin made a sound half-way between a laugh and a snort. "Seriously?"

"That's what I said."

"Uncle J'onn?" Miss Martian floated to the other Martian's side, watching Terry with a wary expression. "What's going on?"

The green man sighed. "I suppose we may need to use a different code name. Perhaps Batb-"

"NO." Terry cut across him, giving the whole room his best bat-glare. "I know where you're going with that one and I _will_ fight you."

Before anyone could make any more suggestions, an alert sounded, and an incoming video transmission blinked to life right above the spot where Black Canary and Superboy were standing.

"Batman to the- what is_ he _doing here?"

The holographic screen made the speaker look ten times his usual size, which only served to magnify the intensity of his glare. Even with a cowl covering most of his face, there was no disguising the disapproval slashed across his face. Terry knew he was on the receiving end of a bat-glare that would put his own efforts to shame.

_Fine, _he thought. He met the other man's gaze, evenly. _Challenge accepted. _Wayne hadn't been eager to trust him the first time, either.

"I believe that he is here to help us," Martian Manhunter answered, interrupting their staring contest.

Wayne's frown only deepened.

"We'll see. Right now, we have a situation on our hands."

The visual display before them changed. A man appeared on screen, or something like it, with hard metallic plates for skin and pointed ears. His eyes were a burning red colour, lit from within.

"Five hours ago," the Dark Knight began, "A new menace attacked Green Arrow and Black Canary. The attacker was capable of studying, then duplicating, the powers, and the abilities of his opponents…"

A brief clip of video footage played out in front of them, illustrating the chaos that had followed, as reinforcements arrived and were subsequently tossed around by their attacker.

"It look nine Leaguers nearly four hours to defeat and dismantle the android," he went on, eliciting a wave of curious murmurs from his young viewers. Terry listened to their discussion with some interest. It didn't sound like androids were very common yet.

"At present, Professor Ivo is our prime suspect," the Dark Knight continued. Then he turned his attention to Terry all of a sudden. "Unless _you _have any insight on this?"

"If you're asking if it's related to my case, the answer is no. Not as far as I can tell," he answered carefully. He didn't get what Wayne was driving at.

"No androids in your time?" the older man pushed. Terry knew his claim was being challenged. Wayne was looking for holes in his story.

"No, we've got plenty. They're highly regulated, though. You see a few illegal ones here and there; mail-order bride-bots, mostly…" (He paused a moment, to let Kid Flash recover from his snicker-fit.) "some are more dangerous. But I've never run into anything that could do that kind of damage."

Whether or not he'd gotten the answer he was looking for, Wayne went back to matter at hand. He issued orders to the team of minor Leaguers on the floor: their assignment was to ensure that two trucks, bearing the android's components, were successfully delivered to two separate Star Labs facilities.

Aqualad looked down at something in his hand.

"Coordinates received," he glancing at Terry, then at the virtual display projected overhead. "What about him?"

"He stays," Batman told the children. "He and I have matters to discuss."


	7. Chapter 7

Terry had been expecting a difficult conversation. He'd expected Wayne to talk down to him. And, given their history together, he'd expected to have to prove himself to the old man all over again.

What he _hadn't _expected was to be completely shut out.

"What do you mean, 'no'?!" he demanded.

"It means," Wayne stated coolly, "That your request to access the Bat-cave has been denied."

"But I already know where it is!" he glared at the holo-screen. "I know who you are, I know where you live. I can be there in ten minutes to prove it to you!"

"No."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?"

"Not my problem. When Chross makes her move, I'll contact you. Until then, I don't want to hear from you."

"But I can help!"

"You've done enough. Assuming that you're telling the truth, there's no telling what could happen if you continue to interfere with events in our time. It would be best if we avoid each other as much as possible."

"But-"

"Batman out."

The transmission ended, and Terry was left staring at a blank stone wall. Willing his heart rate back to its usual, less angry pace, he turned to face the two Justice League members standing by. As if it weren't bad enough getting snubbed, they'd watched the whole thing.

"So what now?" he asked them.

Black Canary sighed. "This is turning into a pattern," she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else in the room.

"Indeed," Martian Manhunter man looked back to Terry. "I must apologize. I had hoped that we would have more time."

"I guess you guys are all tied up with this android too?"

"Indeed."

"I'll call for Red Tornado," Black Canary told him, stooping to retrieve her jacket from the floor and pulling it on over her shoulders. "He'll help you get settled in."

"Settled in?" Terry frowned.

"You've got to sleep somewhere, don't you?" Black Canary reached her hands behind her neck, pulling her long blond hair out from under her jacket collar. There was something sensual about the way she moved, the way she smiled slightly, sympathetically, that must have been calculated to put him at ease. Terry knew smiles like those and he didn't trust them – not anymore. At least, not usually.

This time, Terry knew he was being handled and he didn't like it. Being left behind in Mount Justice – the Minor Leaguer's headquarters – felt like a demotion. Like he'd been sent to the kiddie table.

"Don't worry," Martian Manhunter reassured him. "This is only temporary. As soon as this matter is resolved, we'll do what we can to help you. One night won't make any difference."

_One night makes all the difference. _Terry thought, thinking of the old man. Terry had been furious the day he'd said that. Now, the thought that it might never happen made him feel like he flying over a big empty ocean and his jet boots were about to run out of power.

Not that he'd ever tell him that out loud.

What he did say was, "Fine. Do what you have to do."

* * *

Red Tornado was probably the most android-like android that Terry had ever seen. In terms of design, it was like someone had decided to cross a suit of armor with a little red sports car – fresh coat of wax included. In terms of personality, Terry felt like he was talking to one of his school computer programs. It was all, _'logic dictates this,'_ and _'the diagnostic indicates that.'_ If he didn't know his history, Terry would have figured this guy had been built on an assembly line.

Fortunately, for him, his new escort didn't seem interested in babysitting him. Once he'd shown him around the cave (as instructed) fed and watered him (as instructed) and provided him with a clean toothbrush (also as instructed) he left Terry alone to get acquainted with his new room (apparently obvious to the fact that there were no sheets on the bed. Or in the closet. Some host.)

Terry wasn't in the mood for sleep, anyways. He was alone in Mount Justice, the year was 2010, and somewhere in the world, there was another time traveler plotting to brainwash Bruce Wayne out of his fortune.

He had better things to do.

Those things mainly consisted of snooping around.

He did brush his teeth, though. His mouth was getting that day-old feeling. He'd always _hated _that. He would have carried a little travel-sized toothbrush around in his batsuit, if Wayne hadn't pointed out that it wouldn't be a good idea to run around spitting toothpaste and incriminating DNA all over the rooftops Gotham.

Maybe after this trip, they were going to have to revisit that discussion.

* * *

It quickly became apparent why Red Tornado was unconcerned about leaving him alone in the Cave. It was completely locked down, even the main living quarters. A quick check of the hangar confirmed that all Young Justice's vehicles were currently in use and the main entrance to the cave was sealed tight. In mission room, the cave's central holographic computer didn't acknowledge any of his voice commands, either. That meant no Zeta-tubes. He couldn't even use the system for research.

Terry activated his visor and performed a quick scan of the room. He hadn't really expected to find any technology that was compatible with his suit but, to his surprise, a funny little symbol cropped up: a sort of triangle that consisted of four bars, increasing in length from left to right.

Terry didn't recognize it. Then again, the suit _had_ been in service for years before Terry had ever taken up the cowl. It made sense that it still had some old features that he'd never had any use for – until now, at least.

_Local area connection detected, _the words displayed on his HUD were foreign, but gave him hope. Terry tapped one of the small buttons on his belt,hoping the controls were compatible with the system. It worked. The computer didn't seem to recognize his credentials but his suit was pre-programmed to crack through any kind of security it encountered.

Evidently, Wayne had seen fit to leave himself a backdoor into the League's system.

The holographic floor under Terry's feet lit up, forming a small, blue circle of light around his ankles. The shape it had formed then rose into the air, passing over him in a harmless trail of light, then descended again. He realized that the system was scanning him, updating his credentials to match the ones that the suit had reassigned to it.

The letters flashed across his visor: Batman 02.

It was too easy. He waited for moment, half-expecting an alarm to go off, or for Red Tornado to come swooping down upon him. Of course, his new user credentials identified him as the original Batman. If anyone saw his activity on the system, they would assume that it was his predecessor at work.

Wayne had literally outdone himself.

Gaining access to the Justice League's computer system was one thing, actually using it was another. The interface was completely unintuitive, and it failed to recognize a good number of the most basic voice commands Terry could think of. There also didn't seem to be any real way to interface between his suit and the computer – he couldn't use any of the video data he'd collected over the course of the day to, say, search the League's records for Chross's face. So there was no way to check and see if she had some kind of fake ID already set up in this time period.

He considered his options. The first was to play nice, wait until the League was all done with their android problem and then work with them to track down Chross. But that could take ages. The second was to see what kind of intelligence he could gather using whatever research tools the League had available. Of course, if he stood around too long looking at massive glowing holographic search screens, there was a good chance that Red Tornado would walk in on him and revoke his hard-won user privileges.

That left one final course of action available to him. He would make his way back to Gotham City and do what he should have done in the first place: follow up on any leads that could help him find Chross. With any luck, he'd be able to wrap this whole thing up in one night. If not… well then, he supposed he'd have to make it back to the cave before anyone noticed he'd been creeping around.

It couldn't be too hard, right?

"Right," he said out loud. "Computer: set the Zeta-tube's coordinates for Gotham City."

RECOGNIZED, the computer intoned, just as it had before. Only this time, it got his designation right.


	8. Chapter 8

The Zeta-tube let Terry out in a in a dark, cramped space. For a split second, he thought he'd landed in some kind of booby trap; a tiny prison cell for would-be hackers caught tampering with the Justice League's transport system. Luckily – or perhaps unluckily – a swift, reflexive punch to the wall revealed that he was actually in a sort of wooden box, with very breakable glass window panes installed in each wall.

Feeling sheepish, he looked around and saw that there was an old telephone mounted on the wall and a heavy yellow book rotting on a ledge behind him. It seemed safe to conclude that he was in a phone booth. Or something designed to look like one, anyhow.

So basically, he could add 'vandalism' to his list of _things the league might be upset about later._

It took a bit of fumbling around to figure out the doors; old folding things that nearly came off their hinges when he gave them a shove. He managed to maneuver his way out without breaking anything else, though. When he emerged, he found himself in a shady-looking alley way.

It was still light outside, but only just. From his position on the ground, he could barely make out the last lingering glow of the sun, peeking out over the rooftops above. It wouldn't be long before Gotham City was shadowed in darkness.

Just the way Batman liked it.

He'd had enough down-time in the afternoon to give his suit time to charge itself back up and conditions were optimal for flying. All he had to do was figure out where he was going.

It was probably safe to assume that Chross hadn't made straight for Wayne Manor, as Terry had first assumed. Well over fourteen hours had passed since she had arrived in the past – if she was still lurking around there, someone would have noticed long before now.

Terry had gone over her notes pretty thoroughly and they didn't say anything about Wayne's whereabouts. Not here and now, anyways. Most of the info she had on him was all about his childhood.

It seemed like poor planning to him. If _he_ were a bad guy planning to travel back in time, he'd want more information about the time period that he was actually going to, not the stuff that had come before.

It was clear that he was missing a piece of the puzzle and his best bet of getting to the bottom of it was to gather more information about Chross. If he could work out her methods, he'd have a better chance of predicting where she was going to pop up next.

Unfortunately, he didn't exactly have a whole lot of leads to look into. He had a name, which might help him track down her ancestors, but it was just as likely that she was using a fake. And he knew the location of her broadcasting station… only it hadn't even been constructed yet.

In other words, none of the evidence he needed to crack the case even existed yet.

Then again, the creepy little cave underneath the building _had_ looked like it might be a natural formation. It had probably existed long before Terry had ever been born. And the altar of bones had looked old. Maybe the cult group Chross belonged to had been around for a while.

It was a long shot, but it was better than wandering aimlessly. His suit had been given a chance to recharge while he'd been inactive in the afternoon, so he kicked off the roof, engaged thrusters and took flight in the general direction of the-site-that-would-one-day-be-a-broadcasting station.

Usually, Terry let Wayne take care of navigating for him. He'd always been able to manage on his own in an emergency but, at that time, he'd known his way around town and he'd had a satellite positioning system linked up to his suit to help him out.

Still, he had a rough grid of Gotham in his head and a mean sense of direction working for him. It wasn't hard to work out roughly where Chross's offices would be. Soon he had its location narrowed down to a few square blocks near the edge of town.

Okay, so not perfect. But it was a start.

He was pretty sure he was in the right place, anyways. Now it looked different, more residential. He supposed the business sector of the city must have expanded over time, just as the rest of Gotham had. Now, though, it was all houses, a few apartment buildings, and a small complex of lower buildings clustered together. The tallest of them was three stories high, with tall, steepled roof caps and high, arched windows. He used his visor to zoom in on the sign over the door. _Gotham academy._

It didn't jump out at him as the sort of place where he'd find any leads on a group of crazy cultists.

But there was definitely _something _going on there.

Terry had just fixed the settings on his visor when he caught sight of a dark shape against the night sky, hurtling overhead to run smack into the very building in question. It smashed right through one of the windows with a crash loud enough that it reached Terry's ears, even though he was still blocks away. Moments later, another dark shape zipped through the air, following through the hole that the first one had left behind.

First a school bus, now a school. Terry didn't know what was going on but there was no way he was ignoring an explosion a block away from where he was standing. He kicked up off the rooftops, using his jet boots to propel himself towards the building, through the shattered window pane.

He found himself inside a classroom. Desks were scattered everywhere and a hole had been knocked clean through the opposite wall. And in the middle of it all there was a man… or something that _looked_ like a man.

Terry recognized it. It was the same android he'd seen before in the League's video clip, the one they'd supposedly disassembled. It was supposed to be on its way to STAR labs in pieces, not wrecking buildings in Gotham City.

Someone groaned. The sound was coming from the other side of the hole in the wall, out in the hallway. A civilian? The android was headed over there, maybe to finish them off.

"Hey, you!" Terry called out, diverting the android's attention. "That's school property!"

The mechanical man swiveled around to face him. "ACCESS: SUPERMAN."

Terry dived out of the way as it fired a laser beam in his direction. It left a smoking hole in the window ledge behind him. On instinct, he reached for his belt, only to realize that it was empty. The League had confiscated his weapons earlier that day. He had no smoke pellets, no bataraangs, no explosives… just his suit and a fancy belt.

And now he was squaring off with the android that had taken no less than _nine _Leaguers to defeat.

He heard an enraged cry from the hallway outside. And who should charge into the room but Superboy, swinging his fists haphazardly in the android's direction. Unfortunately, his enemy changed tactics, adopting the Flash's affinity for speed just in time to zip out of harm's way. Unable to control his momentum, Superboy stumbled right past him to collide with a blackboard.

Terry couldn't help wincing. "_Ouch._"

Superboy whipped around in a puff of white chalk, obviously embarrassed.

"What are you doing here?" he practically roared, smashing his fist into the board so hard he left a hole in it _and _a sizeable dent in the wall behind it too.

"Uh…"

"And what are you staring at?!"

_Only a super-sized hissy fit. _Terry was unimpressed. Under different circumstances, he might have given the other guy a piece of his mind. But there was no time. The android was warming up for another attack, and this one looked like it was going to be a big one.

"ACCESS: ZATARA," it said, and then said something else that Terry didn't understand.

A great burst of smoke erupted in the room, obscuring everything around them. The android was already switching modes again, back to Superman this time.

Terry was blinded for a moment but he acted fast, setting his visor to detect heat signatures. He was in luck; the android was red hot on his display. Superboy, by contrast, seemed to give off about the regular amount of heat for a person. He was on the move, but evidently disoriented; he'd gotten the worst of the smoke right in his face and he must have inhaled a lungful of it. Terry could hear him coughing.

So could the android. And it was headed straight for him.

Terry couldn't try and warn the other boy without inhaling a lung full of smoke, so instead he activated his jet boots, using the momentum to launch himself at their foe and tackle it at the waist. It wasn't enough force to damage the super-powered machine, but it _was _just enough to knock it off-balance, sending it stumbling into the wall with a thud.

They needed to get clear of the smoke. Terry grabbed Superboy by the wrist and dragged him towards the wall, where the hole was. They stumbled into the hallway together, with Superboy still trying to catch his breath and Terry already trying to figure out his next move.

"Come on!" he said to the Kryptonian, gesturing to follow him down the hall. He needed to find a decent weapon and regroup.

"Don't tell me what to do!"

Superboy ignored him completely, launching himself at the android in a head-on attack. The android twisted out of the way and tackled the teen from behind, driving them both through another wall.

Terry couldn't believe that Superboy was _such a jerk._ It was hard to imagine that one day, this kid was going to...

There was no point in worrying about the future. If he didn't do something _right now_ Superboy was going to get himself killed.

The fighters had gone through the wall, so he had to double back to see what was going on. Another crash confirmed that something else had been smashed in the room where the fight had ended up. There wasn't going to be anything left of this school by the time they were done.

The trail of destruction led him through the school's computer lab, where the two combatants had already blown a hole through the floor. The room below contained benches and lockers and there was a funny, chemical smell coming from it.

Still, from the looks of things, it was definitely jock territory down there.

From his vantage point up above, Terry saw Superboy and his robotic opponent squaring off again. There was his opening. He dropped down, skirted around behind one of the lockers and shoved, tipping the thing over onto the android. But the machine just smashed his fists through it, sending deadly debris in every direction.

His only hope was to get through to Superboy.

"We've gotta move!" Terry shouted, backpedaling out of the way of a well-aimed metal fist. "You'll bring the whole place down on top of us! We need an open space!"

Thankfully, the clone actually seemed to be listening. Terry took that as his cue and bolted for the swinging doors on the south side of the room. Superboy grudgingly followed his lead.

Terry had figured the door would lead them into a gymnasium, but he was wrong. Instead, he found himself on the deck of an indoor pool. The floor was slippery and the smell of chlorine was strong in the air.

Gotham Academy had its own swimming pool. Swanky.

He took a moment to examine his surroundings. He and Superboy had emerged from the changing rooms, near the shallow end of the water. Further along the deck, there were a few benches, and a big set of double doors. There were two diving boards on the opposite end of the deck one high and one low.

In conclusion: no weapons. Not even a spare woggle lying around. The school probably kept all of its supplies in another room.

Then again, he was pretty sure old electronics didn't tend to be waterproof.

He and Superboy looked at each other at the same time. Without speaking, they split in opposite directions, just as the door behind them blew clean off its hinges in a shower of wooden splinters.

"ACCESS: SUPERMAN," the android switched tactics yet again, turning towards the Kryptonian. It was obvious which of his opponents he deemed to be the bigger threat.

Superboy threw the first punch and Terry took advantage of the distraction, closing in deliver a hard knock to its side. The move didn't do any damage but it still had the intended effect, sending it back a one step, and then another to avoid another swing from Superboy. When they kept at it, it didn't have time to cycle through its different tactics, not without losing the advantage of invulnerability.

They were playing a dangerous game by fighting at close range – Terry especially. His suit provided him with some protection from the android's attacks, but he couldn't afford to take too much damage. A direct hit would likely take him out of the game. Still, he dove in to make another quick strike and together, he and Superboy managed to drive the machine closer and closer to the edge of the pool.

Finally, Superboy managed to land a hit solid enough to tip it over. Terry watched as it tilted over the edge of the deck, stiff as a wooden board. It hit the water with a splash, and then began to sink.

"ACCESS:" it gurgled, "AQUAMAN."

"Oh, _come on!_" Superboy yelled down at it at the same time Terry exclaimed, "Are you kidding?!"

Fortunately, backup found them. He heard the sound of doors swinging opening on the other side of the room and looked over to see Robin and Kid Flash charge inside. Both stopped in their tracks when they saw him.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Robin demanded.

Terry was getting really tired of the question. "If someone gave me a cred every -"

A shower of water nearly knocked him off his feet as the android burst forth from the pool, seizing him by the neck and hauling him up into the air. Terry felt it _squeeze. _If it weren't for his suit, his windpipe would have been crushed for sure.

Kid Flash charged, but the android was too quick, knocking him back with its free arm. Thinking fast, Terry planted both feet against its chest and activated his jet boots. The android stumbled and swung him about, but didn't lose its grip. Superboy took advantage of the opening it created, though, and landed a blow to its side. It tipped over, with Terry's neck still grasped tight in its fist.

Terry's vision blurred. He tried to think, then remembered his belt. He dropped a hand to his buckle and twisted, releasing an electrical discharge into his attacker's arm.

That finally seemed to do _some_ damage. The android let go, and Terry rolled away, out of range of its flailing limbs. Robin hit it with an explosive before it could recover completely, but it still managed to regain its footing. Kid Flash zipped into range and then danced back, just long enough to draw its attention and give Superboy an opening. The clone took it, landing a solid blow to the android's jaw.

It was still standing, though. The team scattered. Superboy tried to draw its attention his way.

"Come and get it, Amazo!"

Terry had heard that name before. Or rather, he'd read about it. In some of Wayne's old files. It was an acronym: A.M.A.Z.O. Batman had encountered it before.

"The eyes!" he wheezed.

Robin was the first to react.

"KF, take this!" he shouted tossing a small, black object the other boy's way.

The android was busy with Superboy, and the speedster didn't waste any time, zipping forward and vaulting over it from the side, tapping one hand upon its metal head as he went.

Something beeped.

"Duck and cover!" Robin shouted. Everyone hit the deck.

The force of the explosion, blew the android's head clean off. When Terry looked around, all that was left was a hollow stump where its neck should have been, wires sticking up from the centre.

After a beat of silence, Robin turned to face Terry, crossing his arms.

"Seriously, though," he said, like nothing had happened. "What _are _you doing here?"


End file.
